


Exsanguination

by NyxieBlack



Category: Vampyr (Video Game)
Genre: Blood Drinking, F/M, Minor Character Death, No Beta, Non-Consensual Blood Drinking, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Game, Rating May Change
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-14
Updated: 2019-03-28
Packaged: 2019-07-12 01:35:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15984803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NyxieBlack/pseuds/NyxieBlack
Summary: It has been one week since Dr. Jonathan Reid has properly eaten, and Dorothy Crane unknowingly points him to his next victim.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, all! This is my first fic for this fandom and also my first fic EVER. Not beta'd, so advice is welcome!

One week. Seven nights. Seven _long_ nights since Dr. Jonathan Reid had sated his unholy thirst last. One hundred and sixty-some hours since Geoffrey McCullum called off the Great Hunt. Jonathan himself was enjoying being able to travel between districts without the constant threat of being attacked, but the Guard of Priwen had made up the bulk of Jonathan’s sustenance. The nooks and crannies of East London were even more devoid of nighttime life than they were before the war, what with the epidemic making people too sick or too scared to dare exiting the safety of their homes.

Even with the cause of the Skal epidemic taken care of, Jonathan was terribly busy providing the less fortunate with what medicine he could and was perpetually in need of supplies on top of what he could get on his own. And so, he arrived at the dispensary of one Dorothy Crane, former revolutionary, former Pembroke Hospital nurse, and current healer of Whitechapel.

She was treating a patient when he entered, so he hung back. Judging from the utter lack of the scent of fresh blood, no one had come in with open wounds that night, which was a relief. It was getting harder and harder as time passed to not simply murder some poor soul at Pembroke in a vain attempt to sate this blasted thirst. Jonathan still trusted himself to not rain down terror on a random passerby, but he wasn’t sure he would still be able to in a night or two.

Dorothy and the patient were speaking in Romanian. Jonathan couldn’t understand a word of it, but whatever it was clearly upset Dorothy, as evidenced by her prominent scowl. After a few moments, Dorothy handed the man a vial of headache cure, and bade him farewell.

Dorothy’s piercing blue eyes fell on Jonathan. “Oh, Jonathan, hello. I hope you weren’t waiting too long.” Her words were polite, but her tone was more blunt than usual.

“Not at all. You’re doing important work, Dorothy.”

She replied with a brief smile. “What did you come for tonight? Low on codeine? Opium?” She rifled through some drawers. “I might have a couple of bottles lying around. If not, please tell me you need ferrous tartrate.”

“We can get to that later. You seem stressed, Dorothy.”

She straightened up and let out a huff, hands resting on her hips. This was one of the rare occasions Jonathan saw her without fresh blood staining her hands and apron. “And you look like shit, Jonathan. Are you getting sleep?”

“Please, don’t change the subject. What’s the matter?”

Dorothy held Jonathan’s gaze for a moment before responding. “Since you asked, there’s a landlord giving my patients trouble again. Cadogan Bates.” Oh, Cadogan Bates. Jonathan had run into the man a few times before, most notably when he saved Bates from being eviscerated by his former tenants. Although Jonathan wouldn’t admit it to himself, he almost regretted not leaving him there. Dorothy continued, “I swear, whenever one of his tenants is close to getting back on their feet, he comes by and demands higher rent. It’s impossible to get out from there.” She scowled. “And did you know that he forces himself on women who can’t make rent? The man’s a vulture. Sometimes I think we’d all be better off if he dropped dead.”

Jonathan responded too quickly. “But what of his family? And friends? Surely they would be worse off without him.”

Dorothy gave him an odd look. “I’m not sure those people exist.” She leaned forward, both hands on the examination table. “And really, are you feeling all right? You look exhausted.”

Jonathan avoided her gaze. She was one of those women blessed with an exquisitely expressive face, and damned if she didn’t know how to use it. He felt like her eyes could see straight down to his soul. “I may be coming down with something. I’m sure it’s nothing serious, so you needn’t worry.”

“Please, Jonathan,” She gave him a fond smile. “It’s my job to worry, and even if that wasn’t the case, I’d be worried about you.”

He wished her concern for him didn’t make his heart leap. Almost as much as he wished he didn’t have to lie to her. “I’ll be fine, I promise. Show me what you have in stock, please.”

* * *

Two nights later, Jonathan awoke to the thumping of each and every heartbeat at Pembroke boring their way into his head. His vision was sapped of color aside from bright crimson—spattered across the operating table down the hall, pulsating through Thelma Howcroft’s body a floor below, congealing in a puddle in the alleyway outside. He was drowning in the what little of the scent made it to his office, pleading for him to end this agony once and for all. He instinctively gasped for air.t only made the temptation worse.

He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to regulate his breathing. Slowly but surely his senses returned to their normal intensity. The smell of blood and the faint beating of hearts was still ever-present, but no longer weighing down on him. What colors he could normally see in his dark office returned. The ordeal left him feeling hollow, like something had scooped out his insides and abandoned the rest of him. He noticed his heart had stopped beating for the first time since waking up in that mass grave and……no, he wouldn’t let himself accidentally kill anyone _ever again_.

If he needed blood—and he needed blood—it would be on his terms. If he had to take a life, it would not be another innocent one.

 _Sometimes I think we’d all be better off if he_ _dropped dead._

So Cadogan Bates it was. Jonathan couldn’t think about his decision too long, couldn’t give himself the chance to talk himself out of it. Taking his coat, he followed the familiar path to Whitechapel.

* * *

 

Bates was easy to find. He didn’t stray too far from the same spot. Jonathan could sense he was fatigued. Didn’t matter.

“Dr. Reid, have you given any more thought to—”  
Jonathan leaned forward, whispered into his ear “Come with me.”

Bates’ face slackened, his eyes became glassy and unfocused. Jonathan led him to a corner and—

Blood. Warm. Rushing down his throat and spreading through his limbs. He could feel Bates come to his senses and struggle, unable to make a sound through Jonathan’s vicelike grip over his mouth. Was Bates trying to bite his hand? The thought flickered through Jonathan’s mind for a fragment of a moment before being replaced once more by pure bloodlust. He could feel his own heart start beating again as Bates’ frantic pulse slowed, as Bates’ vain attempts to break free got weaker. The man went limp in Jonathan’s arms.

_Was I that evil, to deserve such punishment? My only regret is that no one will mourn me…_

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I found this on my computer, and I think at this point it's safe to say this isn't getting finished, but I don't hate what I wrote, so here it is. Apologies for it ending kind of abruptly.

It was the night after Jonathan had murdered him, and Jonathan assumed the Bates’ death would affect Whitechapel more than it had. Early that morning, at dawn, Christina Popa had stumbled across the body on her way home. (Jonathan wasn’t going to fool himself. There would be a next time and when that next time came, he would have to find a better hiding place.) When Jonathan asked her about it, Christina seemed indifferent. “Used to live in one of that bastard’s buildings. Kept trying to get me to go down on him for free even after I left. Stole from me too. He can rot in hell for all I care.” 

Jonathan didn’t feel particularly bad about taking Bates’ life—and that fact made him uneasy. Yes, he felt a twinge of guilt now and then about murdering the man with no loved ones. However, judging from the outright disgusting remarks he made about his refugee tenants on the few occasions Jonathan had spoken to him, that had been his own doing. 

Jonathan eventually found himself back at Dorothy’s dispensary. The dispensary was fuller than it had been on previous nights. Dorothy herself was giving someone stitches. There was another man seated on a cot, cradling his arm. Broken, most likely. Someone else was asleep in a cot. A third man had a similarly deep gash on his shoulder. She looked in her element—after all, one of the things she said she missed most about Pembroke was the work. 

"Hello, Jonathan. I was wondering when I’d see you again.” She looked up, tucking a few strands of hair into her cap, leaving a red handprint on the white fabric. “Could you make yourself useful and reset this gentleman’s bone?” She flashed him one of those teasing smiles. 

“With pleasure, Dorothy,” he said, setting to work. “Any chance of getting a discount for helping?” 

“Ha! I’m sure you’re in no need of a discount, Doctor.” She tied off the thread and spoke a few friendly words to her patient, sending him on his way. 

It was a busier night than it had been since the Guard of Priwen attacked a few weeks ago. Nowhere near the mad rush Pembroke could be, but enough people filing in that both Dorothy and Jonathan had their hands full. Not many open wounds and no need for invasive surgery, either, to Jonathan’s relief. Nevertheless, the longer the night wore on, the more distracting even a small cut was. 

Eventually there was a lull, and Jonathan decided to make small talk. “What is the state of the Dispensary these days? Of Whitechapel?” 

Dorothy looked up from the inventory list she was scribbling out. “Hmmmm. Well, I’d say we’ve been doing better than we have been in a while. You and Hsiao Shun are doing much more good than I think you realize. Tonight is the busiest I’ve been since Pembroke, and there were only, what, two flu cases?” 

Jonathan was somewhat relieved that Bates’ death wasn’t the first thing on her mind, but he pryed anyways. “I heard that that Cadogan Bates fellow…. passed away. Do you have any thoughts on the matter?” 

“You always have your finger on the pulse of the city, don’t you? Personally, I’m not that bothered by it, and the longer Scotland Yard doesn’t know, the longer before his buildings are turned over to the city, the longer refugees can go on living there rent-free. If you want my opinion, they should be paid to live there!” She released a sigh and lowered her voice a bit. “I know I shouldn’t, but I wish that whoever offed him had done a better job hiding the body. So, Jonathan,” she changed the subject. “What did you come to see me for? Nothing too unusual, I hope.” 

Suddenly, Jonathan felt very, very nervous. It was an irrational feeling, and he tried to ignore it, but it had been so long since he last attempted to woo anyone. He was always busy, buried in his studies or desperately trying to keep as many soldiers from dying as possible. It had been, what, a decade, at least, since he last attempted a real, lasting romantic relationship. “I didn’t come for supplies, tonight.” He reached into his coat and removed a few magazines. He held them out to her. “Here, I have the most recent medical journals.” 

Dorothy’s eyes widened and a grin transformed her face. “Jonathan!” Her voice was dripping with affection. He could hardly keep himself from smiling. “You don’t know how much I missed these! I don’t know how I could thank you!” 

“It’s no bother. Oh, and I annotated some of the articles. I hope you don’t mind.” 

“Ha! Yes, how dare you, the great Dr. Jonathan Reid, writing notes in the margins!” she said facetiously. “I’m sure it won’t be too distracting.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! <3 I intend for this to have at least one more chapter, with more shippy stuff.  
> I, for one, was extremely disappointed when the game didn't let me date Dorothy Crane, Registered Nurse And Also Badass. I wanted to woo her Bioware-style, dammit!


End file.
